


Dirty Secrets

by whatthefridge



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Orgasm, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Jackson Whittemore, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Multi, Nipple Play, Praise Kink, Soulmate Tattoos, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tattoos, Threesome - M/M/M, deep-throating, emotions are hard dicks are harder, like way more angst than I originally anticipated, stuffed Jackson sandwich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 04:13:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10677459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthefridge/pseuds/whatthefridge
Summary: Stiles has always known that the first words his soulmate will say to him would get printed on his body at puberty. He didn't know he'd get two tattoos. And he didn't anticipate it'd be from douchebag supreme, Jackson.Jackson doesn't know what his two tattoos mean except misfortune. So he dedicates himself to building an empty castle, because soulmates are for other people. And no one will ever love him.Derek is unfortunate enough to have one tattoo that's far too explicit and another that's frustratingly vague. He doesn't care what that means. He's ready to do whatever it takes to cherish his destined someone.(Or the case of fated polyamory in a monogamous world.)





	Dirty Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> This story didn't begin as a story. It began as me wondering why Soulmate AUs never deal with what happens if you wind up with more than one tattoo.
> 
> I intended to just whine on Tumblr, but then a story idea formed in my head. I ship Stackson, so that was the baseline for this. But I recently started shipping Halemore too. The Sterek is an unintentional byproduct that I've embraced wholeheartedly. Welcome to Jacksterek! Hopefully I did this justice in the end.
> 
> I'd like to thank [kimosumiko](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kimosumiko/profile) for going through this for grammar and pointing out places I wasn't clear enough.
> 
> I give permission for this to be posted on Goodreads. In fact, here's the [GR page](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/34906828-dirty-secrets) in case you're interested. Constructive feedback appreciated.

Stiles Stilinski has a dirty secret.

He’s had a crush on Lydia Martin since the third grade. That’s not the secret.

He remembers the day they met clearly. She sat in the front row, and he spent the majority of the class trying to think of the perfect thing to say to her. When the chance finally came, when he could finally sidle up to her, she asked, “You need help with the homework too?”

He choked. “I need—go out—help.” His face had to be beet red as he darted out of the room, but not before he saw her raise her brow and shake her head.

For years, their relationship never went beyond these stilted interactions. Then puberty hit. Lydia went from almost-approachable to absolute hotty. And the first-words she’d hear from her soulmate were printed on her skin. The stylish black text under her collar-bone read, “Oh, I think we have biochem together.”

Stiles had sulked for what felt like forever. Then one day, he got out of the shower and saw his own tattoo, blocky letters on the inside of his forearm saying, “Should I even ask how you managed to survive for this long?” He’d grinned because he knew he was going to like this snarky jerk. It wasn’t Lydia, but it could be so much more. Someone who cared about him, a mysterious person in his future, asking how Stiles fumbled his way through life.

He was ready to leave the bathroom with a new sense of purpose when he spotted lines snaking across his shoulder. Words that read, “Get out of my way.”

Stiles knows those words. Has them memorized. It was the first day of first grade. Recess time. Jackson Whittemore was a golden child, with a pretty face and a fat wallet, who could get away with anything, including shoving past Stiles with a flippant, “Get out of my way.”

The amount of energy Stiles spent dreaming about Lydia is directly proportional to the amount of energy he spends ignoring everything that is Jackson. A difficult feat as Jackson just grew more and more obnoxious over the years, nabbing Lydia as his girlfriend, letting the whole school know that the two of them could fuck whoever they wanted regardless of fate.

Stiles often wished Jackson would turn his way and see the seething hatred. But Jackson’s caught up in hogging the spotlight, stepping over anyone in his path and ignorant to Stiles’s existence when there’s already a long line of kids cursing him, about as long as the ones falling over themselves to worship him.

But there’s no undoing Jackson being Stiles’s soulmate.

It’s confusing, though, having two sets of fated first-words. He can’t possibly have two introductions with the same person. At least, that’s what he thought before he turned to ol’ faithful, Google. Amnesia or any substantial memory loss could require a second first introduction. It’s kind of terrifying, but the more common cause of second tattoos is the loss of one mate and being gifted with another. Only in rare cases does two tattoos mean two soulmates at the same time.

Stiles’s secret is he hides Jackson’s words, guarding his shoulder with the same care as the stuff in his pants. If Jackson can’t remember they’d shared fated words, then Stiles doesn’t need to rush to remind him. Maybe they’ll need to meet twice, or maybe—Stiles hopes—it’s a sign he’s allowed to move on. He wants to believe there’s a better mate waiting for him someday.

#

Jackson Whittemore has a dirty secret.

He’s got a tattoo on his left forearm that’s different from the tattoo on his right forearm. That’s not his secret.

There’s notoriety involved in having two tattoos. It spells out misfortune, not that anyone dares say it to his face.

He’s got money to throw around, and everyone wants a piece of him. But his riches stem from his birth parents dying on the day of his birth. They’d left him with great genetics and a significant trust-fund, but it’s his adoptive parents who are loaded.

It’s given him a reputation since he was young—the wealth, not the adoption. People envy him, but they can’t deny that the high scores on the field and on his tests are a product of his effort alone. There’s no falling back on his wallet when he’s only as good as his latest achievement. He’ll be forgotten the moment people stop being impressed.

“You think you’re all that, but you’re a nobody.”

“I’m so sick and tired of this, go waste somebody else’s time.”

That’s what his tattoos say. But context is everything, he tells everyone. These words just mean he’ll inevitably win his soulmate over. And when misfortune strikes, he’ll do it again.

Covering the text was never an option. He’s captain of the swim team. And the lacrosse team. Hinting at any shame is a sign of weakness, and hiding his arms would only draw more attention to them. No, no one can hurt him if he doesn’t let them.

No one.

And if he wears long-sleeve shirts to bed, unable to strip the words from his memory, no one’s there to see him cry.

Jackson’s secret is he doesn’t want anything to do with the soulmate who’d called him a nobody and will later say he’s a waste of time. He’d rather have his empty victories and relationships. It suits him when his mate sees the truth about him. He’s the reason his parents died rushing to the hospital. And he’s the reason his mate will leave him when nothing he ever does will be good enough.

#

Stiles feels bad for Jackson’s tattoos, but not really. He has a history of spouting dumb, petty shit, and this one just happened to stick. “You think you’re all that, but you’re a nobody.” It was pure jealousy. For the money, the looks, the athleticism, and later, the sex appeal; Jackson has everything going for him. Stiles feels righteous in taking him down a peg.

The only thing he regrets is how he keeps wandering back to the dead-end. He tells himself he joined lacrosse to get Lydia’s attention, but he’d be lying if he didn’t hope for Jackson’s as well. It’s a stupid plan. He’s been nothing more than a bench warmer for years. Him and his best friend, Scott. But it’s always felt better than the prospect of watching from the stands.

God, Jackson is just a lot of unnecessary heartache.

Thankfully, high school has an end date. And Jackson’s moving to a university across the country.

Summer vacation is a lot of camping out in the preserve before Stiles and Scott have to move to the city. It’s always been a bonding time for them, away from their parents, just them and the outdoors. But this year Scott found his soulmate, which means Isaac is camping with them.

It’s not that Stiles dislikes Isaac; it’s that Isaac makes it very easy to be disliked. Which is terrible because Isaac’s had an abusive father to deal with for years. Isaac was so invisible that in spite of being on the same lacrosse team as Scott, it wasn’t until senior year that they said a thing to each other. It wasn’t even during lacrosse.

Scott had accidentally bumped into Isaac in the halls and caused him to drop his books. Flustered, he’d exclaimed, “Shit, I’m sorry, dude, are you okay?”

Isaac sneered, having had the words mocking him for years. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the real answer to.”

And Scott, having had _those_ words taunting him for long enough to become reluctant about asking new people questions, said, “I—I’d never do that to you.”

A match made in heaven. Stiles copes by imagining Scott finally caved and adopted one of those feral rescued cats he keeps falling in love with at the animal clinic. Scott’s managed to earn Isaac’s trust, but there’s still plenty of claws and teeth left, mainly directed at Stiles.

He trails off into the bushes under the guise of needing a piss to get a moment away from Isaac. It’s a bright sunny day, and he’s too busy admiring the peace and quiet to watch where he’s going. His foot snags on something jutting from the dirt, and there’s nothing to steady himself with as he flops to the uneven ground, rolling a foot downhill.

Aside from a few scratches, there’s nothing hurt but his ego. He sits up, brushing off the debris when he hears a _tsk_ from a tree. There’s a man standing in a leather jacket by said tree. Tall, dark, and handsome, with very judgmental eyebrows.

The man shakes his head. “Should I even ask how you managed to survive for this long?”

Stiles stares at him slack-jawed.

“You get a concussion or something?”

Stiles barely hears the question when the words that fall out of his mouth are, “Oh my god, I can’t wait to feel your dick inside me.”

#

Derek Hale has a dirty secret.

There’s been a tattoo of “Oh my god, I can’t wait to feel your dick inside me” written on the side of his stomach for years. That’s exactly his secret.

Even though he’s never been a prude, the sexual nature of the phrase is prime for teasing, and flaunting the words always feels like a betrayal of a private moment. These are the _first_ words he’s supposed to hear from his soulmate, and he’s spent countless hours imagining the two of them hooking-up somewhere, doing the talking with their bodies until the words finally slip out.

It’s an easy secret to keep. He has another tattoo prominently displayed on his bicep, a severely more vague “Hey, you.” He’s often speculated how he’d respond to that, but he’s heard enough hey-you’s from asshole peers that it stopped meaning anything to him. Whatever this second introduction means, it won’t escape his skepticism.

But one mystery is solved, and it’s this flailing boy in the woods, randomly blabbing it upon realization they are mates. Derek’s mom said it’ll depend on context, and she was right. He supposes he’s fortunate he has a G-rated story to tell his family after all.

Stiles is nine years younger than him, and freshly legal, oozing with sexiness in spite of his constant motion, always fidgeting, always doing something with his mouth or his hands. Everything that Derek would like to suck on. And he’s going to leave out that part about the blowjobs when he refers back to the occasion.

Stiles buzzes with excitement at hearing Derek lives nearby. Derek invites Stiles’s best friend and friend’s mate too, though he has a feeling Stiles only introduced him to them to rub it in their faces. Mom has a wry grin when she meets the crew. Uncle Peter and Uncle Joey exchange money over a bet Derek would rather not know the details of. Gran Maura needs to know if she’s setting out more dishes for dinner, and there’s about ten more family members ready to make their own remarks. Stiles attaches himself to Derek’s side the entire time, glancing at him knowingly, on the same page about wanting time for privacy and less clothing.

During dinner, it’s discovered Derek’s getting his PhD at the same university where Stiles, Scott, and Isaac will be starting at in the fall. Dad asks about their living arrangements, and Stiles and Scott go off about their apartment situation now that Isaac’s involved. They’d saved up for a one bedroom where they can cram in two beds, but Stiles doesn’t want to be eternally sexiled and Scott doesn’t know how they’d manage a two bedroom since he’s against the idea of Isaac couch surfing. Derek immediately offers for Stiles to live with him at _his_ apartment, and Stiles lights up like a candle. Derek doesn’t say it, but he’d rearrange the rest of his life to accommodate his beautiful new mate.

A mate who, upon a less clothed context, has a second tattoo just like Derek. But as soon as Derek starts worrying about something going wrong for them in the future, Stiles pipes up with the possibility that it’s a backup mate. Derek wonders why Stiles is so persistent about it.

“Process of elimination,” Stiles says. “I’m far more likely to greet you with ‘Hey, sourpatch kid,’ and you’ll love me too much to ever say ‘Get out of my way.’” He puts up his hand, as though knowing when Derek’s heart does a little leap. “And before this gets heavy with the L-word, I was really hoping for more of the D-word.”

Derek snorts. He’s only known Stiles for a few hours, but they’d been some of the most eventful hours of his life. “I suppose there’s more than one way for you to feel me inside you.”

#

Jackson joins a fraternity in college. It’s his new family, with an abundance of brothers with tattoos just as shitty as his and peers with more interest in drinking, fucking, and getting high than true love. And he works as hard as he plays, staying in the top percentile of the university’s pre-law program. He’s no rocket scientist like Lydia, but he has a chance to be accepted to the best law schools in the country without his lawyer parents calling in any favors. Who needs soulmates anyway?

One of his brothers recommends a tattoo artist who’s popular for hiding fated phrases beyond six words in length. Trying to blackout the text only causes the ink to turn white, and trying to write in fake text just has the words disappearing before the skin heals. The only thing that’s guaranteed to work is incorporating the text into a patterned design, keeping the words legible but difficult to find. Fortunately, there’s enough people out there seeking decoy and decorative pieces that there’s no automatic assumption upon seeing one.

Jackson checks multiple sources to see if this artist is legit before beginning plans for two full sleeves with asymmetric patterns to accommodate the variations. It takes months to complete the masterpiece, and in the end, it’s nearly impossible to tell where on his arms the words are located, and, for those expecting only one phrase, on which side. But Jackson knows, he can point to the words in his sleep. Nobody. Waste. His mate perpetually disappointed in him as he flaunts his perfection to the masses.

Freshman year ends with Jackson getting a summer internship at a top firm. His best friend also gets engaged. Jackson’s sincerely glad Danny found his soulmate after living with a “Sorry” tattoo for ages. He also takes his rightful place as Danny’s best man.

The pre-wedding not-Bachelor party is held at a gay club in California, the place where Danny and his soulmate met in spite of Danny still using a fake ID. Francis has his own best man coming around, but the guy’s late. And when he does show, he misses the group when he scans the room, unable to hear them or differentiate their waving from the rest of the clubbing. As Derek heads toward the bar, Jackson volunteers to fetch him as part of his duty as best man.

#

Derek’s lost in a sea of people, the lights too dim in some places and too glaring in others. He’s been in clubs before, but never the gay ones. He’s bewildered by the attention he’s getting, a multitude of men trying to grind on him and asking to buy him drinks. It’s almost like they can smell fresh blood.

He elbows his way to the bar at the center of the club, hoping this will help in finding a familiar face. Francis was bartending here when Danny said the words “I heard they hired a new guy, but I didn’t know they plucked an angel out of heaven.” Francis was so shell-shocked that he’d dropped the glass he was holding. Danny jumped back as it shattered, and it evoked a “Sorry!” from Francis.

Derek wishes Stiles was here instead of being stuck writing for some summer group project. Derek’s idea of a good time is a quiet evening with close friends and deep conversation. At least with Stiles there’d be shenanigans, Stiles waving around his fake ID and imbibing far too many rum and cokes. He’d get snarky about Derek drinking regular cokes, calling him boring or something, and Derek would have to remind him of all the fun they have in other ways, in graphic detail. Stiles would turn red and accept the glass of water Derek hands him, remarking about being overly responsible. Derek would reminisce about being the middle child from a chaotic household, conditioned to stay the sensible one, and explain for the millionth time he’s outgrown whatever desire he used to have in clubbing and getting shit-faced. And, ultimately, he’d probably order a glass of wine just to see the horror on Stiles’s face.

Derek smiles to himself when a hand taps his back and yet another guy shouts over the music.

“Hey, you!”

Derek swiftly turns, facing down a pretty boy wearing a buttoned shirt, the sleeves rolled up and showing ornate black-and-white tattoos. The words grate at him, coming at the wrong place and at the wrong time.

He snaps, “I’m so sick and tired of this, go waste somebody else’s time.”

The guy winces, shutting his eyes tightly and scratching at his left arm. When he opens them again, there’s only wrath directed at Derek. The guy bares his teeth, snarling as he jabs his finger at Derek’s chest. “Fuck you, Derek! You’re a fucking waste of my time.”

The guy knocks people aside as he disappears into the crowd, and Derek’s left frozen in place as his heart drops to the pit of his stomach. It can’t be what he thinks it is. That’s not how someone reacts to a stranger unless there’s fated words involved.

Derek has two tattoos. It’s not impossible for him to have two soulmates.

Two soulmates. Shit.

Danny appears at his side. “Please tell me you just insulted Jackson’s hair.”

Derek shakes his head as everything comes crashing down. Jackson is Danny’s best friend; he was trying to help Derek. And Derek ruined things with his intolerance for this club and that phrase.

“Fucking hell.” Danny takes out his phone. “Okay, you stay here. I’ll handle it.”

“He’s my soulmate, Danny. I need to fix this.”

Danny dials a number and waits. “I understand you mean well, Derek, but you don’t know Jackson or what he’s been through. He’s convinced his soulmate will never want him. And you don’t. I can’t let you hurt my brother more than you already have.”

Derek sucks in a harsh breath. He doesn’t know what he wants anymore. He has Stiles. But he has this too. He can’t just allow it to slip through his fingers.

“Fuck,” Danny hisses. “He’s not picking up. Go be with Francis. I got this.”

“No.” Derek blocks Danny’s way, growling. “Either I go with you or I go alone.”

“You don’t know where he’s going.”

“I know who he is now. I know where he’s staying.”

#

Stiles always knew a day would come when he’d have to face Jackson again. He was just hoping it’d be in fifty years or in the afterlife instead of now. Why did Derek have to be besties with the soulmate of Jackson Whittemore’s better half? God, Stiles only talked his way out of going to the sort-of Bachelor party because Derek’s the type to believe schoolwork is a legitimate reason to miss out on having a life. Stiles can’t ditch the wedding too.

He doesn’t expect the call from Derek. At first, he assumes Derek’s freaking out because Jackson got offended by Derek calling him out on his shit, which Stiles would unquestionably support. But then he has to ask if Derek’s absolutely, one hundred percent certain Jackson said “Hey, you” and not “Damn you” or “Gay poo.”

“Stiles! I know what I heard.”

“…But are your words written on _him_ though?”

“I couldn’t see. His arms are covered in other ink. But he reacted like it’s there.” Derek’s breathless when he adds, “Stiles, I don’t want to lose him.”

Stiles can’t believe how easily that affects him. But it’s only because Derek takes being soulmates seriously, always treating Stiles as his number one priority. For all the times Stiles has had to make backup plans in case things fell through with Scott, he’s never worried about Derek making time for him at the last minute or fitting him into plans he wasn’t previously a part of. Derek is as dependable as the earth revolving around the sun, and the only reason they’re not engaged yet is because they’re holding off on opening the floodgates with Derek’s family. Between orchestrating the enormous wedding ceremony and putting out inevitable fires due to meddling, just making the event happen would be a full-time job, and there’d be hell to pay if Stiles and Derek signed any documents without everyone present. But Stiles doesn’t feel like they’re missing out on much; besides a joint bank account, they may as well be called married.

It’s surreal hearing Derek direct that same passion toward Jackson. He’d move mountains if it meant taking care of his soulmate, and Stiles can’t deny him his nature. So he grudgingly agrees when Derek asks for his company in confronting Jackson. Derek would want both his soulmates with him in the same space at the same time; Stiles would rather a hail of comets end this here and now.

The one saving grace is Derek has no knowledge of Jackson’s other set of fated words. In a way, Jackson did Stiles a huge favor by obscuring the ink, so there’s a chance it won’t even come up. Jackson’s poor memory could absolve Stiles of any explanations.

But, Christ, why did everyone have to stay in the same hotel? Derek insists Stiles doesn’t need to change out of his Iron Man pajama pants or put on a clean shirt. There’s very little Stiles can do to stall besides ‘delay’ in the bathroom, ‘miss’ the elevator, take a ‘wrong’ turn in the halls, and ‘trip’ on a maid’s cart. Derek’s restlessly pacing in front of the door by the time he gets there.

They brace themselves as Derek knocks.

They wait.

He knocks again, louder.

Nothing.

“He’s probably not in,” Stiles says.

Derek tries a third time, being extra obnoxious about it.

There’s the sound of stomping from the other side.

“Leave it alone, Danny!” Jackson barks as he flings the door open. His wet, blood-shot eyes widen at the sight of Derek and Stiles. He curses and swings the door shut.

Derek slams his body weight into the metal panel an instant before it locks, sending Jackson stumbling backwards. Stiles saves his hard-on for later as he and Derek step inside.

“You have every right to hate me,” Derek declares. “But I’m not letting this go until we have a chance to talk for real.”

“Great,” Jackson says sarcastically as he rubs his face. “Just let me roll out the red carpet.” His hair’s rumpled, and there’s a crease on his face from a pillow. He looks miserable and strangely approachable now that he’s a wreck, his perfect facade crumbling around him. The only thing left unblemished are the two sleeves of gorgeous tattoos revealed by his undershirt, and even that is an act of shame and pride rolled into one.

“I messed up,” Derek says, undeterred. “And I’m here to make amends. I’m ready to make this work between us.”

“And what if I don’t want this to work?”

Derek looks like he may actually throw up. “How can you say that? We’re meant for one another.”

“Yeah, well, you see, I don’t care. And what does Stiles have to with this?”

“You know each other?” Derek silently pleads with Stiles for emergency back-up.

“We went to school together for twelve years,” Jackson answers, frustrated like he doesn’t comprehend how this is news. “Met in second grade. The teacher was passing around our pet snake when Stiles nearly dropped it. I said, ‘The superiority of thumbs is lost on you.’ And he replied, ‘The superiority of large skulls is lost on _you._ ’”

Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose. Why is he not surprised?

“Well, he’s my soulmate too,” Derek explains. “I have two sets of fated words.”

Jackson rolls his eyes. “Welcome to the club. I guess that ‘soulmate’ I met in first grade died.”

“Wait, what!?” Stiles interrupts, and two sets of eyes land on him. “You’ve known you had a mate floating around school all this time?”

“Yeah, what’s it to you?”

Great, now Stiles is going to be sick. “And you never bothered to find out who it was?”

“Don’t play dumb, Stiles. You know what my arms say, the whole school did. Whoever this person was, they didn’t misunderstand when they rejected me.”

Stiles should strangle Jackson for choosing this as the only thing he’s ever cooperated on. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe the person could be hiding from _you_?”

Jackson furrows his brows. “Seriously, Stiles? I know you hate me because I’m better than you, but don’t make it sound like I’m some low-grade bully. I’ve never gone out of my way to make anyone’s life miserable. And don’t even start about the shit I said toward you. You’re a wind-up monkey who never stops banging his cymbals. It’s impossible not to comment. If we’d been soulmates, I’d have tested just how much of that banging could be useful in bed.”

Stiles gulps, his veins pumping lava to his face. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. Jackson didn’t just notice him, he had a whole method of dealing with him. And is Jackson really admitting he wouldn’t have minded being soulmates with Stiles? He takes a deep breath and holds up his hands in a time-out sign. “Hold on. Not being soulmates didn’t stop you and Lydia.”

“We were fine being fuck buddies; no feelings were harmed when we agreed to split for college. But you, there’s no way I could have fucked you without shit going bad. I gave up as soon as our tattoos came in wrong.”

“Were you _anticipating_ our words matching?”

“And what if I was?” Jackson challenges. “It’s a pointless conversation to have now.”

Jesus Christ on a philly cheesesteak. Did they step into Opposite World when Derek forced the door open? Is Stiles dead and this is what Hell looks like? Jackson not only remembers, but he’s been avoiding Stiles _because_ he was upset they weren’t meant to be.

Stiles needs to tell the truth. He owes it to both his mates. He mentally prepares himself for the worst as he yanks up his t-shirt sleeve. Derek knows what’s there, but he doesn’t know what it means. Stiles has to accept the choice that he’s made. “It’s not pointless.”

“Since when—!” Jackson’s expression goes into turmoil as he gets a good look at the words. What’s left is only grief when he asks, “That was you?”

Stiles’s chest tightens. “Yeah. I’m… I want to say I’m sorry, but it feels empty. There’s no apology I can give that’ll ever undo what I’ve done.”

Jackson’s breath hitches as a stray tear streaks his cheek. “Christ, I was right to give up on you.”

“I thought… I was convinced that if you ever remembered that the words on your arm were mine, you’d confront me about the lack of yours on me.”

“Why should he?” Derek asks, embittered, a fury bubbling beneath the surface. “It’s more likely someone else said the words than there being a glitch in fate’s markings or you hiding things out of spite.”

“He’s right,” Jackson says, rubbing his face again. “As far as I knew, we didn’t match. And I didn’t want to believe you were the same kid who made me cry.”

“I made you… cry?”

“I got told I’m a nobody after my parents told me I’m adopted.” Sarcasm finds its way back into Jackson’s voice in spite of the sadness. “Excuse me for not handling it well.”

Stiles hadn’t thought anything of it when he’d snapped at Jackson. This was a kid who already had a reputation of being impenetrable to the few peers who thought ill of him. Stiles had no way of knowing he’d caught Jackson in the midst of an existential crisis, questioning everything that he is and has, whether it’s all as illusive as his birthright.

And Stiles can’t even tell when Jackson stopped being a person to him, if Jackson was ever more than a symbol of everything he could never have. Jackson was that adorable and bright and well-liked kid everyone gravitated towards in kindergarten. And going forward, he commanded the spotlight whether people liked him or not. It was only after puberty that it became full-blown entitlement to it all, always condescending and narcissistic, dripping with an arrogance rooted in him actually being better than everyone else around him.

“Well,” Stiles scrambles for an excuse, “you were really confident you could win me over.”

“What else was I supposed to tell people, Stiles?” Jackson hisses as he blinks away more tears. “For fuck’s sake, if you could see I’m a nobody, how could you not see I was covering my ass? There was no chance in hell I’d let anyone know I’m lower than trash to y—”

Stiles closes the space between them…

#

And Jackson braces himself for the slap as Stiles’s hand flies toward him with the palm open.

It never arrives.

Stiles cups the back of his head, mashing their lips together. A flicker of hope ignites in Jackson, and he’s terrified of it. If he allows himself to feel anything now, it’s over for him. He should shove Stiles away and snuff this before it burns him alive.

He can’t move.

Stiles takes a small step back when Jackson doesn’t just fall into his arms now that the secret’s out. Jackson lets Stiles grasp his right hand, though, and Stiles lifts it so his lips could brush over the hidden words that were never hidden to him. His hot breath raises the hairs on Jackson’s skin. “You deserve better than this from me.” The soft kiss sends shivers up Jackson’s spine. “I wish I could show you just how much of a somebody you’ve always been to me.”

“I want to see.” Derek’s voice rattles Jackson back to the _other_ mate he apparently has now. There’s none of the anger Derek’s been directing at Stiles, only apprehension. “Please. Show me my words.”

Jackson’s at a loss as he extends his left arm out, shivering more as Derek’s large hand circles around his wrist, holding him steady. Derek’s other set of fingers glide through the labyrinth of ink, starting at his shoulder and slowly moving down. The intense scrutiny pricks at Jackson more painfully than any needle. He waits for Derek to take a wrong turn, to brush the text without ever seeing a thing.

But then the pad of Derek’s thumb traces the correct lines, and Jackson has to bite down a moan as Derek’s low and husky voice says, “There it is.”

Derek scowls at the words he hadn’t meant to say. And Jackson fights the urge to apologize for not calling Derek’s name at the club—Derek wouldn’t hear it—and for being unconcerned about a friendly introduction—that’s just not him. He’s had these words since before Derek uttered them, taunting him with their malice, no matter how brief and misguided it eventually turned out to be.

He shakes Stiles and Derek off and moves away from them. It’s too overwhelming with them touching him. “It’s done. It’s been done,” he spits. “You’re only here because you feel guilty. Hell, Stiles is only here because you dragged him out. I don’t want a pity party or your sorry faces trying to turn this shit into gold.”

“This isn’t guilt,” Derek declares, his tone leaving no room for refute. “This is fate. This is me wanting to give you a life that goes above and beyond my selfish words.” Then his voice strains. “But if you really need me to leave, I will. I’ll never force you to accept me.”

Jackson wants his heart to stop racing. He wants to return to the hours before, when the potential for love was a thing for other people. He wants the years of pain to stop. But most of all, he wants to give in to the fantasies he’s buried in the ground, the ones full of everything that he actually needs. And a part of him is begging to give these two a chance, while another is screaming from all the ways they could hurt him still.

“What’s even the point?” he asks. “We’re going to see each other again at Danny’s wedding anyway. Just get on with it. Give me your empty promises and the true love spiel.”

“I’m a terrible soulmate,” Stiles blurts.

“And water is wet.”

Stiles’s eyes flit between him and Derek. “Maybe I should go. Give you and Derek time to sort through your feelings without Scumbag Stiles in the room.”

Jackson grabs for Stiles’s arm when he turns to go. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me.”

“You want me to leave.”

“If I wanted that, I’d have told you to fuck off by now.”

“Come on, I ruined your life.”

Jackson raises his eyes to the heavens. “Can you just, for even a second, stop being a complete fucking idiot?”

“I dunno. You’d have to ask Derek.”

Derek rolls his eyes but doesn’t make any move to agree or disagree.

“Stiles,” Jackson says, exasperated. “You lied to me. That’s what I hate most about this. If you’d just come to me when the ink appeared… maybe we’d make up. Maybe I’d push you away. I don’t fucking know. You took that choice away from me. The rest is just… it hurts. Derek’s words didn’t help. But I’m a 4.0 student on a path to Harvard. I’d hardly call my life ruined.”

Stiles chews on his lower lip as his gaze drops to the floor. “To be honest, I was also afraid our second tattoos meant we’d have to meet again. You’d ask, ‘Should I even ask how you managed to survive for this long?’ I’d respond, ‘I’m so sick and tired of this, go waste somebody else’s time.’ It felt like an omen of our future together, that even amnesia wouldn’t solve our issues.”

“But then we met,” Derek cuts in. “With tattoos that _don’t_ make sense together. You should have said something then, Stiles. You still had time before Jackson moved across the country.”

“I know,” Stiles says guiltily. “But I really was sick and tired of it all. I fucked up, Jackson. I really fucked up. But I’ve always wanted you, even when I tried to convince myself I didn’t. There were so many things to despise about you that I refused to see you as my mate, okay? You were an asshole on an altar who wouldn’t like me on a regular day, so why complicate things by being destined for each other?”

Jackson’s heart aches. Back in school, Stiles was a loser with potential, someone who could be worth his time in the right context. But Stiles was attached to Scott, and Jackson’s reputation could only withstand so much—unless they were tied by fate, then no one could touch them. He’s told himself he met Stiles in second grade so many times that everything’s turned surreal. Stiles has a second tattoo, one that truly corresponds to his. They’re soulmates, actual soulmates. Bonded on a lousy day when Jackson couldn’t give a shit and Stiles had seethed with resentment.

“You wanted me,” he reiterates. It’s the only detail that matters.

“I did. And I swear I thought it was one-sided. I could have never guessed you have poor taste in people.”

Jackson lets that slide. He’s more interested in what comes next. “Do you still want me?”

“I do. I’ll always want you, Jackson. It’s the bane of my existence.” Stiles looks to Derek. “And I withheld it from you because I didn’t want to touch that wound. I just wanted to move on in life. I was really counting on someone else being your other mate.”

“What Jackson and I have is irrelevant,” Derek chides. “He’s _your_ soulmate, Stiles. You can’t just pretend he doesn’t exist.”

“Thank you, Captain Hindsight.” His big dumb eyes return to Jackson. “It’s because I wanted you so much that I lied. If I rejected you, then you couldn’t ever get a chance to reject me. ”

Jackson desperately wants this to be real. He’s been waiting years for his mate to stick a knife in his heart and twist it, but here’s two of them, and neither are wielding it. Derek’s ready to commit his life to Jackson without knowing him and Stiles is confessing to being won over in spite of his efforts. It’s too good to be true, and yet Jackson would accept Stiles’s stupidity if it meant never having to dread the knife again.

“Well, we’re here now,” he says. He’s not ready to forgive Stiles or embrace Derek, but there’s something there. It could even grow if tonight is more than a mirage in the desert. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know. You need to tell me before I dig myself an even deeper ho—”

Jackson moves in, giving in to his budding hope and kissing Stiles like maybe there’s a chance they could work. “That’s for cutting me off before.”

Stiles’s goofy grin is everything. “I am totally on board with that being our thing instead of finishing each other’s sentences.”

Jackson chooses to overlook that. “I’ll never forgive you if you make me regret this,” he says, glancing at Derek. “Either of you. I need to know you’re not just a bunch of right words.”

“There’s so many ways,” Derek replies with a sigh of relief. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

Stiles raises a wary finger. “I may have some ideas… very naked ideas.”

Fortunately for Stiles, Jackson likes the suggestion. Emotions are hard, but sex is easy. It’s the in and out, just something to pass the time until he’s vaguely interested again, usually so drunk or high he doesn’t care that he’ll forget names or not ask at all. He’d primed himself to hook up during Danny’s event anyway, a meaningless fling to add to the long list of other meaningless flings. Doing it with his soulmates instead is definitely a step up.

He kisses Stiles again, and, this time, they’re both ready for it. Stiles isn’t the self-deprecating virgin of yesteryear as his tongue meets Jackson’s with some level of technique, nimble fingers climbing under Jackson’s undershirt to find his nipples. Jackson often hates how sensitive the spot is, but sometimes he loves it. And he’s loud about the things he loves.

“God,” Stiles says, gliding his thumbs over the erect nubs. “I’m never gonna be able to look at you shirtless in public again.”

“He’s not shirtless yet,” Derek says, gaze flicking down Jackson in a hungry way.

“You should fix that,” Jackson offers, raising his eyebrow in tacit invitation.

Stiles moves behind him before Derek reaches for the fabric, and Jackson licks his lips as he holds eye contact with Derek throughout. Soon enough Derek’s kissing the breath out of him, and Stiles winds his arms around Jackson to unbuckle his pants.

It goes on like that, Jackson sandwiched between Stiles and Derek as they takes turns kissing him and removing clothes. He rolls his eyes at the ridiculous phrase stamped on Derek’s abs, about the only ridiculous thing about Derek and the intensity in every pore of his being. And then there’s Stiles with his solid core, no longer the stringy kid without an ounce of muscle to his name—nowhere near Derek’s mass or Jackson’s form, but that freshman fifteen isn’t all fat.

Jackson’s not sure what either of them were expecting when he asks them to stuff him with their cocks. Stiles can’t get over Jackson being this forward about wanting dick while Derek’s eyes go dark at the realization that Jackson’s stretched and ready to go.

Jackson has a running joke with Danny about his moods, how sometimes he’s in the mood to fuck with his dick, other times with his ass. Usually he doesn’t have a preference, but earlier today he’d masturbated on a dildo with a clear mood for the evening, ensuring less delay in getting to bed with whoever he ends up with. Yet neither Stiles nor Derek get straight to fucking his ass.

He finds himself in bed with Derek at his back, arm supporting his head as Derek sucks on every inch of his neck and shoulders. Derek’s got three slicked fingers pressed into him, like he wants the idea of getting Jackson ready for him, but Jackson knows foreplay and this ain’t it. He’s fine either way. He’s also got Stiles in front, taking full advantage of his nipples with that mouth, stroking his cock like he’s making up for lost time. He cups Stiles’s head, encouraging the constructive use of that tongue, and reaches behind to try to grasp at Derek’s pert ass and thigh.

He’s never hooked up with anyone so invested in his release, not unless it’s a simple blowjob, maybe some fingering. This is on a different level of commitment. And when his orgasm hits, it almost feels too soon. He wanted to draw this out, really make them put in the effort. But he can’t deny how good it is being wrung out by two sets of hands, with partners who are pleased by their ability to turn him into putty.

He smiles into the pillows, wishing they could stay close like this for a bit longer. Without their touch, it’s almost like missing a blanket. He’s not going to admit he’s never been this gloriously fucked out while still sober and clear-headed, though there’d been no cocks and he’s not feeling anywhere near sober and clear-headed right now.

Stiles’s face appears inches from his. “Doesn’t look like we did a poor job taking care of you,” he says proudly. “I can’t wait to hear what other sounds I can squeeze out of you.”

Jackson snickers. “You haven’t seen me when I’m high.”

“What?” Stiles exclaims, fakely dramatic. “An overachiever like you always struck me as the abusing Adderall type.”

“Tried it once. Bad side effects. But you’re not wrong.”

“Damn, and here I thought I’d illegally supply you with my prescription.”

“Stiles,” Derek warns.

“I wasn’t being serious,” Stiles says loudly before whispering to Jackson, “Really bad side effects?”

“Stiles,” Derek says again.

Stiles sighs as he caresses Jackson’s cheek. “I feel like I’d need at least a week to really show you even a portion of what you’ve missed out on.”

Jackson’s mind snaps back to the cold reality of the situation. He glances at each of his arms with a naive hope, but the words haven’t changed. The ink is etched into him like scars. Just as he can’t reset the accident that took his parents, he can’t reset what fate printed on him.

#

Derek was content to lie back and bask in their collective afterglow, not concerned about his own release when he’s finally got his hidden soulmate in his arms. But he can’t, not when Jackson tenses up again.

Stiles notices too and frowns. “It’s really hard to keep the mood when you sour this quick.”

“I can’t help it, Stiles,” Jackson responds. “I’ve got reminders that will never go away.”

Stiles sits up and looks to Derek. He’s lost and seeking support, and normally Derek would jump to his aid. But they may as well be thousands of miles apart; Stiles betrayed his trust. Derek gets why Stiles did what he did, but it’s still disappointing. Stiles omitted important details about his life because he worried about Derek’s reaction. And while it’s true Derek wouldn’t drop the subject of a second mate, it’s only because that’s not a thing that should _ever_ be dropped. They could have resolved this so much sooner if Stiles put more faith in Derek’s ability to mediate conflict.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Jackson says when the silence goes on for too long. His expression is pensive as he props himself up on both elbows. “I’m willing to give this a chance. But I can’t just flip a switch in my head, no matter how nice you are to me.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Derek says. In a way, it’s the same with him. He still loves Stiles, but it’ll take a long while before he can forgive him. And yet, he knows he wants to, he knows from the bottom of his heart that Stiles can do better. He can already see the gears turning in Stiles’s head, calculations for how to show he’s learned his lesson and earn back Derek’s trust. “We’re technically supposed to be here for a wedding, anyway. We have the rest of our lives to sort out our differences.”

Stiles’s eyes glisten with hope. “I like that plan.”

“Rest of our lives,” Jackson says, as though he’s testing the words. “Hate to break it to you, but lives are short and I can’t guarantee anything once I’m back East.”

Derek bites down on the urge to ask Jackson to move back to California. It wouldn’t be fair to ask any more of Jackson after what he’s been through. “I could talk to my advisor,” he throws out there. “Work something out so I could move closer to you. If that falls through, I don’t really _need_ this PhD if it means earning you instead.”

Jackson stares at him like he’s grown three heads, but Stiles scoffs. “Sounds about right coming from you,” he says with annoyed admiration. “Sure, why not. I don’t like the idea of long distance, either. Most of my credits should be transferable. And I don’t think Scott will mind, what with him becoming sparse ever since he’s started getting laid. Let’s hope half the Hale family doesn’t trail behind us, huh?”

“Sure,” Jackson snips, his voice slightly shrill. “Complicate yours lives because of me. But when things turn bad, don’t be pointing blame my way.”

“Never,” Derek says at the same time as Stiles answers, “It won’t.”

Jackson throws his head back and groans. “I’m not agreeing to anything while I’m covered in jizz.”

“Anything?” Derek and Stiles ask simultaneously, clearly of the same mind.

Jackson shuts his eyes tightly before sinking to the mattress and spreading his legs. “You know what, I’m due for more convincing.”

Stiles’s cock is certainly interested in the offer, though Stiles chews his nail. “You get loud, Jacks. Someone might call in a noise complaint.”

Jackson snorts at that. “I’m part of a frat, Stiles. Noise complaints is what we do. And I’m too good-looking to ever get in any real trouble.”

“You see what I went to school with, Der?”

“The difference is,” Jackson says, gesturing to himself, “now you can fuck all this splendor.”

Derek nods in comprehension. For all the tip-toeing he does around Stiles’s insecurities, there’s an allure to facing Jackson’s arrogance head-on. “I know one way to muffle him.”

Both Stiles’s and Jackson’s eyes widen for a moment before they lick their lower lips. So that’s _one_ thing they have in common.

#

Jackson needs to stop his brain. Now that this soulmate business is real and happening in ways that only obnoxiously optimistic people claim it should, it’s freaking him out. When he asked for more-than-words as proof, he expected them to try to romance him and him being difficult about it. He can’t handle Derek and Stiles being ready to uproot their lives for him. It’s irrational and stupid and he shouldn’t be so goddamn elated. Having a cock or two in him should do the trick.

He’s grateful for Stiles’s burst of enthusiasm in flipping him face-down on the sheets, not wasting any time burying his cock in Jackson. Jackson gasps and spreads his legs wider, arching his ass up for a better angle.

“Fuck,” Stiles exhales. “You love this, don’t you, Jacks? Fat cock in that tight ass.”

“Nhg.” In truth, Derek’s is thicker while Stiles’s is longer, but Jackson’s not here to correct anyone. “I’d love it more if you moved.”

“God, and here I was trying to be a gentleman and give you a sec to adjust.”

Jackson gets half a syllable out before Stiles digs fingers into his hips and yanks him up to his knees. He steadies himself just as Stiles starts pounding into him, hips slapping his ass in quick succession. He pants and curses, and sweat beads on his brow while the heat in his gut pools to the base of his cock. If he touches himself, this will end. And if it were anyone else, he’d go for the quick ride. But he wants this to last.

“God, yes,” he moans.

“Yeah?” Stiles asks. “You like this?”

“Mmm. Fuck yes.” He wants Stiles’s hoarse voice imprinted in his memory.

“Good. So good at taking my cock.”

Jackson mewls as Stiles plunges in at just the right angle. “Ah. Fuck. Yeah.”

“Yeah, take my cock,” Stiles punctuates with his thrusts. “Take everything I’ve got. You deserve every bit of this.”

“Please,” Jackson whines, ready to give in to the throbbing in his cock. Whether Stiles’s talk is on purpose or mindless babble, he’s helpless to the effect it has on him, chipping at the wall between them.

“He knows the magic word, Derek!” Stiles slows his brisk pace, adjusting his hips until he finds that angle again, aided by the strangled noise Jackson makes as his prostate is stimulated. This time Stiles keeps to the position, deliberate in his thrusts as he holds Jackson’s nerves hostage.

“Ahh. Fuuuck.”

“I should get a gold star,” Stiles says between breaths, “for not coming yet from you being absolutely perfect.”

“Then you better start imagining naked grandparents,” Derek says as he kneels in front of Jackson, tilting Jackson’s head up and swiping his thumb across Jackson’s lip. “Because I’m taking my sweet time over here.”

Jackson wants. He opens his mouth for Derek’s cock, licking at the wet tip before closing his lips around it and sucking like it’s a piece of candy.

“Goddamnit,” Stiles whines. “You’re way too fuckable, Jackson. I regret every minute I haven’t spent sticking it in every part of you.”

Jackson focuses on the cock filling his mouth, the weight of it resting on his tongue as the length pushes in deeper. He opens up his throat before Derek reaches the back of it, and it takes Derek by surprise.

Derek pulls out, gazing down at Jackson with fondness. “Look at you.” He brushes his fingers through Jackson’s hair. “I bet no one’s ever appreciated your willingness to please.”

Jackson groans, the praise touching him in a strange part of his chest. He opens up again as Derek pushes in, swallowing the length until pubic hairs scratch at his nose.

Derek makes a satisfied noise. “Such a good boy.”

Jackson closes his eyes. He can’t take everything at once. His world narrows to the cock leisurely passing his lips, filling his throat before sliding back out. It takes every ounce of concentration to not choke from his responses to Stiles, muffled words and hummed sighs whenever cock is not blocking his airway. His balls are drawn up and his cock’s dripping; he’s clamping down on Stiles without meaning to. He’s never been so close to coming without touching himself. Maybe he’s coming already. Everything’s a blur of pressure and heat, pleasure radiating out.

But then Stiles’s hips stutter and Stiles cries out.

“Sorry,” he wheezes when it’s over. “Jackson’s pulsing and locking over here. I stood no chance.”

“It’s okay,” Derek says, pulling out of Jackson just as Stiles does. He tilts Jackson’s head up again so their eyes can meet. “I’m going to finish you.”

Jackson nods even though it’s not a question. He sinks to the wet spot he’s made on the sheets, trying to compose himself as Stiles disposes his condom and Derek rolls one on. He’d wanted his brain to stop, and there’s only white noise as he waits.

Stiles nudges him to his side, kissing his wet and achy lips as Derek blankets his back. Jackson’s encircled by their warmth just as when they’d just used their hands. He’s restless though, needing more but unable to form words. Stiles kisses down Jackson’s stomach and gives him the stupidest puppy dog eyes. Jackson nods and sucks in a breath as Stiles’s hot and wet mouth wraps around his cock. At the same time, he feels Derek’s fingers slip down his crack, gliding against his used hole before hooking his arm under Jackson’s leg and lifting it.

“Fuck,” Jackson gasps as it’s Stiles who guides Derek’s cock inside him.

There’s a mild sting as the new friction activates old nerves, and Jackson’s glad he’s lying down because he doesn’t have anything left in him. He’s pressed flush to Derek’s chest, leg up, a cock stuffing his ass. All while Stiles sucks him effortlessly, doing things with his tongue that are not accidental. It’s enough to bring Jackson back to the edge and hold him there.

His entire body screams for release, unable to let go until Derek tweaks his hard nipple. It breaks the last thread of restraint as he shouts from the top of his lungs, his whole body spasming. Derek holds him through it, growling against Jackson’s neck and securing his cock deep in Jackson’s ass. Stiles doesn’t desist bobbing his head, sucking in every last drop and then some. It’s only when Jackson goes limp in every sense of the word that he’s set free.

Stiles cuddles him before he can feel the cold, bringing up the blanket and bundling him in his arms. He catches Derek peeling off a condom full of cum before closing his eyes and breathing deep. There’s the overpowering scent of sweat and sex, but there’s also the notes of sweetness from Stiles, hints of woodsy from Derek when he settles behind Jackson again. And so much warmth.

He reconsiders every bad thing he’s ever thought about the meaning of soulmates, because this has to be it, this has to be the soulmates customized just for him. He’s safe here, wrapped up in them, and he doesn’t want to think about it further.

He’ll have plenty of time to stress about his future with Stiles and Derek later. And before he really falls asleep, he makes a note to get back to Mitchell about that therapist he’s been recommending to the brothers. Could finally be something worthwhile.

#

Stiles sits with Derek at the dining table of Jackson’s suite. The morning sun shines through the curtains as they eat the breakfast they ordered from room service, Jackson still asleep in the bedroom. They haven’t spoken much since the night before. And there _was_ a hotel employee sent to make sure everything was okay because people heard screaming, to which Stiles replied they were watching one hell of a scary movie.

“How much longer are you gonna give me the silent treatment?” he asks now as he pokes his pancakes.

“Depends,” Derek says over french toast. “How many other important secrets are you keeping from me?”

“Well, you see, I have this long lost brother—”

Derek narrows his eyes, eyebrows all judgey.

“No other secrets,” Stiles says with a confidence that Derek has to pick up on. “I pinkie swear I’ll never lie to you like that again.”

“I know you, Stiles. Don’t phrase that like you’ll find another way to lie to me, because I know you’re capable of it.”

For once, Stiles isn’t trying to pull a fast one. But he’s moved by Derek’s ability to catch it. “Don’t make me promise to be a hundred percent honest to you at all times always because we both know I’d be lying about being able to keep it.”

Derek smirks, which is progress. “I love you, Stiles. Just promise you’ll come to me next time. I’ll even promise not to jump down your throat with my opinion on the matter.”

“I love you too, Der,” Stiles says and he means it. “I promise I’ll do better.”

He wags his eyebrow. “But you can jump down my throat in other ways.”

Derek sits back and crosses his arms, but he’s still smiling. “That was something else last night. I had to use every ounce of willpower not to fuck his throat raw. But I’m worried we pressured him to do things.”

“Nah.” Stiles flaps his hand. “He asked us to show him we’re more than talk. We did more than talk. Besides, Jackson’s the type to shout from the rooftops when he doesn’t like something. I imagine he’d bite your dick off if he didn’t want it there.” He shudders. “Okay, bad visual, but point remains.”

“Do I get a say in this?” Jackson asks with a noticeable rasp as he walks into the room barefoot. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and nothing else, probably not even underwear with the way the pants are hanging low. His lips and nips are pinker, definitely more puffed, and he’s covered in hickies, his white skin blooming with patches of blues and purples. It’s a good look on him.

“I’d prefer if you did,” Derek says, a bit pale in the face from bad visuals. “By the way, there’s coffee and we didn’t know what to get you so we just got doubles of our orders.”

Jackson pads to the kitchenette overseeing the living space and grabs himself freshly brewed coffee before sitting at the table. “Stiles is right. About me letting you know if I didn’t like it. I’ve slept with enough people to know what I want and how I want it. I’m not about to waste my time appeasing somebody else’s idea of a good time.”

“Well,” Stiles says, impressed by Jackson’s honesty if nothing else, “there’s your answer, Der. We gave Jackson an A+ performance.” He’d also had a damn amazing time turning Jackson to mush.

Jackson’s expression remains neutral-to-crabby as he loads his plate with a bit of everything, including the bacon and sausage, before dousing it in syrup. But that’s a blush. Stiles made him blush. And he’s pretty sure this isn’t an ordinary Jackson meal.

Derek’s distress is palpable though. “Does that mean you’re going to keep sleeping with other people?”

Oh snap, Stiles hadn’t thought of that.

“I mean, I haven’t agreed to be exclusive with you,” Jackson says, and Stiles has never seen Derek scandalized before until now. Leave it to Jackson to bring that out. “But,” Jackson goes on, “I’m bored of fucking people as though they’re living sex toys. I guess I’ll have to find something else to pass the time.”

Derek’s concern wanes but it remains in the creases of his brow. Stiles will have to tell him later that Jackson quitting casual sex is literally impossible unless he’s committed to a relationship. The last person Jackson was serious with was Lydia, and despite him offhand calling her a fuck buddy, he never once strayed—which Stiles can attest to based on Lydia being smart and perceptive enough to catch Jackson if he had. Jackson may as well be shouting from the rooftops that he wants to be with them.

“Did you shower yet?” Stiles probes.

Jackson eyes him. “Why?”

“Because if you’re not covered in jizz, we can start planning what the hell we’re doing once this little honeymoon is over.”

Jackson stares into the food on his fork. “This isn’t a honeymoon.”

“Come on, Mr. What I Want And How I Want It, we don’t have to touch the subject of our future together, but at least admit you’d like for us to sleep over again.”

“I still haven’t decided if I even forgive you.” The force behind Jackson’s tone is weak.

“It didn’t take much forgiveness for you to beg for my cock,” Stiles comments because he’s not going to let Jackson live it down. Doesn’t help that Jackson’s face reddens. “But I’m playing with you,” Stiles clarifies, for Derek’s benefit too. “I don’t expect you to forgive or fall head over heels for me—or Derek—anytime soon. I think it took Isaac over a year just to get comfortable with the idea that he can be loved. And since I’m also the source of your suffering, we might be looking at a minimum of two years before things get smoothed over between us. The important part is whether you’re willing to entertain the idea that we can even get that far.”

Jackson presses his lips tight, but at least some of the tension with Derek is loosening. Stiles isn’t expecting quick results there either, but they’ve progressed far enough in their relationship that he isn’t worried about their future. What he has with Jackson is a fragile thing that’s built on one night of everything at once. Stiles still can’t process that Jackson _wanted_ them to be soulmates.

“You should sleep over again,” Jackson finally says so low it could be a whisper. He rubs at both his arms. “Should probably bring up your bags, too, so you have everything in one place.”

Stiles has a dirty secret.

He thinks he’s capable of falling in love with Jackson.

###

**Author's Note:**

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> And Tumblr: <http://fanfictionfridge.tumblr.com>
> 
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